


A Caller in the Storm

by me_midget (gin_tonic)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HD_Worldcup: Team Fanon: Prompt: The Hermit, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-16
Updated: 2010-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_tonic/pseuds/me_midget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has left the Wizarding World for good and is living in a hut in Lake District. Life is calm and good, and Harry thinks he finally has everything he needs, but a caller in storm that rages one night might change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Caller in the Storm

It was one death too many. Seeing another small body lying in a pool of blood, hex-marks everywhere, clothes hanging in shreds and smoke still in the air, had sealed Harry's resolve to leave the Wizarding world for good.

It was hard to believe after all the things he had seen, but even Harry Potter had his limits. Eleven years after the final battle Harry was an Auror who couldn't stomach seeing people die, who was single and lonely and as unhappy with life as one could possibly get. In the past year he had ever so often found himself leafing through catalogues that offered 'the most solitary holiday one could ever find', but none of the destinations had offered Harry exactly what he needed.

In the end he had accompanied the small, broken body to the morgue and then packed his things and left for Lake District. It had been surprisingly easy to leave. There had been no tear-filled goodbyes — in fact, there hadn't been any goodbyes at all but for the letters that he had sent — only determination, and that had been enough.

The first nights he had spent in a tent until he found a small real-estate office where he bought a house. The manager had been nice, but Harry hadn't felt guilty about Obliviating him and taking all records of the property with him afterwards. The house itself was more a hut than anything else, tucked away behind a group of trees in the middle of a wide moor. No water connection, no electricity, nothing that required him to have human contact of any kind.

It was perfect.

*******

Harry opened the front door of his home and stretched. Misty mornings like this were one of the things Harry loved about this place. Another was that things didn't change around here. Every morning after he got out of bed he went outside to get some fresh air and check on the chickens he had in a coop out back. He fed them, took out the eggs that they had lain and went back into the house to fix himself some breakfast. Afterwards he would go to his self-made 'bathroom': an attachment to the house he and his magic had made, it held a toilet with vanishing-automatism (there were a couple of things one couldn't live without, after all) and a shower that sucked its water from the rain basin outside.

During the day Harry busied himself with cleaning his hut, taking care of the chickens, hiking and meditating. He had taken meditation up as means to calm down when he had first arrived in Lake District, feeling that he needed to find a way to push the poisonous thoughts out that had dominated him back in London. He had gotten so used to it that he didn't think he could make it without, even though he wasn't plagued by nightmares as often anymore.

Sometimes he would disguise himself and walk to the next village to fetch some groceries, his appearance so indistinguishable that nobody would remember him afterwards. He didn't talk, he didn't have any contact and he liked it that way.

He must have left London more than nine months ago, Harry thought as he stopped at the shore of the small tarn that lay only an hour's hike away from his home. The winter had passed by now and even though it was still cold and a stiff wind was blowing, the first signs of spring were appearing everywhere. Fat, yellow wild daffodils and tiny snowdrops were blossoming in the area and the first green leaves were showing their colours as well. It was breathtaking.

For a moment, and not for the first time, Harry wished that there was someone he could show this to, this natural marvel, but he squished that thought as quickly as it had come. It wasn't that he regretted anything or that he was homesick in any form; no, he actually felt closer to happiness here than he had anywhere else. But sometimes he felt it was kind of unfair that he alone saw this beautiful landscape.

Harry chuckled and shook his head at his own silliness. There was nothing, of course, that prevented anyone coming here and looking — much unlike his home, which he had warded against intruders. The only thing that kept people from coming here was that they were too lazy to dare the hike.

******

A fire was burning and a nice stew was simmering in the battered cauldron near it. The spicy scent of herbs and meat filled the small hut and Harry, snuggled into a blanket that was scarcely needed in the warmth of his home, was reading on the bed nearby.

Outside, the rain was pouring and surely tomorrow the ground would resemble Swiss cheese more than the high moor Harry was accustomed to. But evenings like this were part of the charm – he could stay inside his warm and cosy hut, while the world outside went wild.

Before he had come here Harry had never found himself tempted to pick up theory books about spells just for fun or interest. Reading had been reserved for finding out about Horcruxes, researching various subjects, and training to be an Auror. Even during the first month up here he hadn't done any reading, just trying to get the images out of his head that had burned themselves into his brain. He hadn't managed and had finally picked up a book about Occlumency that he had once gotten to enforce his personal shields against Voldemort's influence. Back then he had barely understood anything, but Harry found that by now, at the age of twenty-eight, he could understand what the author was getting at.

The memories and the images hadn't vanished, though they had at least slipped into the background.

A weird tingling sensation raced through Harry's body and shook him out of his thoughts. At first he just lay there, too confused to be able to place this foreign feeling, until it dawned on him that this was the alarm of his wards. Maybe it was an animal, he told himself, but then remembered that animals could cross the wards without any problem and wouldn't have triggered anything. And Muggles — his next thought was of a hiker who had got lost in the storm — would just be repelled.

There was a wizard outside of his wards, and he was trying to get in.

Harry cursed his luck with a vehemence that would have made Sirius blush and grabbed his raincoat. In weather like this even water repelling charms weren't any help, as Harry had found out in his first big storm out here. Couldn't the intruder have waited until the sun was shining again?

Mumbling and cursing, Harry drew up the vinyl hood and hurried outside.

"Bloody weather." The way down to the place where the wards had been triggered was slippery and so uneven that Apparating would have been complicated in best conditions and was virtually impossible now.

Half running, half stumbling and all the while praying that he wouldn't slip, Harry could only hope that a couple of nice hexes would drive off whoever dared to try and enter his sanctuary. Then a huddled figure came into view, sitting in front of the wards and staring at them miserably even though the wards themselves were invisible.

_At least they are properly discouraged already_, Harry thought with satisfaction. He raised his wand and aimed carefully, a spell on his lips, but the other person must've heard him arriving and looked up. Harry didn't even have to hear his name fall from the man's lips — he knew the voice better than he knew even Ron's — because the piercing, but right now tired-looking, eyes were enough to make him stop in his tracks. God, how long had it been?

"Draco..." Harry's eyes were wide, but he didn't lower his wand. "What are you doing here?"

"Wanted to visit you," Draco told him and topped it off with a hearty sneeze as he got to his feet.

"No-one has been here since I arrived. Nobody found me."

"Well, nobody is me." Still the same haughtiness.

Harry narrowed his eyes and made a point of moving the wand slightly to focus Draco's attention on the fact that Harry wasn't exactly happy about someone coming here. "Tell me what you want and then piss off!"

"Harry, I..." Draco swayed and fell into the mud, unconscious.

"Aw, hell," Harry cursed and stepped out of the wards.

******

When Harry was finished, Draco was naked and occupying Harry's bed. That combination would have once sent Harry singing into higher spheres, but right now he didn't have a mind for it. He had wrapped Draco in three towels and then tucked him under his wonderfully warm duvet. The fire was roaring and a mug of hot tea, kept warm by a stasis charm, was waiting for Draco.

Lost in thoughts Harry ate his stew, for once not paying attention to the rich flavour and the joy that something he had made tasted so good. Draco looked worse for wear and Harry couldn't help but wonder how Draco could be affected like this from being outside in today's storm. Sure, Harry had had his fair share of post-storm colds, but he had never looked like Draco did tonight. No, something was quite wrong.

His eyes were drawn to the still figure in his bed once again. It was surprising to see that Draco hadn't changed much in these ten years. Of course Harry had occasionally seen him at this party or at that ball, every one a ministry function or other things he hated, but they hadn't really talked to each other or gotten close.

Draco's body was still pale, still lithe — though more matured, more refined now — and his hair was still the same shade of silvery-blond. Harry could see that Draco's hairline was on the verge of receding, but it didn't make him look less attractive in the least.

He was just starting to let his treacherous brain compare changes in the other man's nether regions when Draco started stirring. It took quite a lot of control not to jump up and sit on the edge of the bed to check up on Draco like he had done back then. What did they say? Old habits die hard.

"Nguuh?" Draco blinked at the ceiling and then, after he got the eye-coordination under control again, turned his head to look at Harry. "Hey." His voice was hoarse, but still sent shivers down Harry's spine.

"Hey yourself," Harry said and handed Draco the tea he'd brewed for him.

Draco sipped the drink quietly and gave Harry a grateful smile before he looked around. "Nice place."

Harry nodded. "Yes, it is. Comfortable and usually very quiet." And without any visitors. Harry's _What do you want_ was tickling the edges of his words.

Draco placed the cup on the nightstand and started coughing, blinking tears out of his eyes. Harry frowned at that. While Draco had certainly always been whiny he had never been sickly. The two of them had survived more than that storm out there during their Horcrux hunt and Draco hadn't been sick like this.

"Sorry," Draco wheezed out. "It's not as bad as it sounds." That certainly got Harry's attention — Draco downplaying something? — but he opted not to comment on it further. Instead he wanted other, more pressing questions to be answered.

"Draco, what are you doing here in Lake District? You were trying to get through my wards."

"I wanted to see you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really? I somehow can't believe that you came here for a social call. Especially not in such a storm and as late as this. You could have waited till the weather was better. Besides, I don't do visitors."

"But I'm here now."

"Because you fainted –"

"I didn't faint!"

"– fainted and landed face first in the mud. I have been gone for more than nine months, Draco. And we haven't talked in ages. Why now?"

Draco stared interestedly at the pattern of the duvet, then concentrated on the flickering flames of the fire. With a sigh Harry got up and busied himself with filling another bowl of his home-cooked stew.

When he turned back towards Draco, he was looking at Harry with a weird expression on his face, but he accepted the stew anyway. "You undressed me."

"Would you rather I left you in those wet clothes of yours?"

"It wasn't an accusation," Draco commented before eating silently for a bit. "This is good."

Harry inclined his head. He had often wondered why Draco, who had grown up with the best and most expensive food one could imagine, was so keen on home-style cooking. Or rather: on Harry's cooking.

As Draco started to blink rapidly, his hands shaking, Harry gently took the bowl from him and pressed him back into the pillow. Draco's eyes closed almost instantly and he was asleep again.

 

******

Harry was still awake when Draco woke up hours later. Somehow he hadn't been able to fall asleep (which had nothing to do with the fact that Draco was occupying the bed and there was only the old armchair left).

He had planned on asking again why Draco was here as soon as the other man had gathered his wits, but seeing Draco like this, so terribly vulnerable, reminded him of other times. So instead he asked: "Are you sick? You don't look so well."

"Why thank you," Draco coughed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Don't give me that." He couldn't pretend that Draco wasn't sick, not when he looked like he was about to keel over. "I know when you're unwell. If you plan on staying here then you better tell me what's wrong."

Draco opened his eyes slowly and regarded Harry for a moment, probably thinking that leaving would be an easy way out from all the questions. Harry, though, didn't intend his first question to be his last. He still had a long list to check off, starting with what had prompted Draco to come here at all. Because an ex coming to visit you out of the blue was too strange to happen just like that.

"About two weeks ago I got admitted to St. Mungo's. During my work with a couple of highly poisonous mushrooms, I got infected with fungal pneumonia. And . . . I might have checked myself out."

Harry stared at Draco incredulously. "You check yourself out when you have pneumonia? Are you mental?!"

Tsking, Draco shook his head. Haughty bastard. "No. I was more or less well again. The Healers said the pneumonia was basically gone."

"Basically. Shit, Draco, are you actually listening to yourself?" Harry got up and started pacing — an admirable feat in his small hut. It was so unlike Draco not to relish the pampering St. Mungo's surely provided for someone like him. He was made of money, after all, and his Potions business was successful enough that he could do research himself at his leisure.

"I said I was practically cleared anyway."

"And the first thing you do is to come here –"

"Actually, no. First I had to find out where you are hiding. Then I came here." Draco started coughing again and Harry quickly handed him his now lukewarm tea. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. But still, Draco. Coming out here while a bloody rainstorm was raging, just when you are about to get better from having pneumonia . . ." That was it. He would finally get an answer. Then he could clear up whatever Draco thought he needed from Harry and he could send Draco on his way in one or two days, when he was fit enough to Apparate.

But Draco only yawned and burrowed into the pillow. "Had to," he mumbled and then fell asleep. Draco had always been good at avoiding things. Sighing, Harry transfigured his armchair into a bed and gave up on finding answers for that night.

*******

Despite everything that had happened, sleep came easily to Harry. Images were flittering through his dreams, streams of something that he couldn't hold onto long enough to actually grasp what he was seeing. But when he woke up a mere six hours later, his back stiff and his eyes slightly puffy, he could have sworn that it had been Draco's face that he had seen repeatedly during the night.

The thought of that was confusing at best, so Harry quickly got up and busied himself with getting ready for the day and making breakfast.

When the smell of eggs and bacon didn't wake Draco up, Harry quickly walked over to check up on him. Draco's chest was rising and falling just like it should, even though he looked slightly flushed. A frown took up residence on Harry's face and he carefully put his head onto Draco's forehead.

The good thing about Auror training, apart from getting into shape and learning many, many different kinds of spells, had been that the recruits learned how to get by when forced to live in the wild. They received extensive Herbology lessons and a couple of potion seminars where even Harry had had no problems grasping how to brew certain, minor healing draughts.

Harry always made sure to have some of those draughts at the ready, which proved to be very handy now. He dribbled a bit general healing draught into Draco's mouth and stroked Draco's neck to get him to swallow, then sat back in his re-transfigured armchair and started eating breakfast.

Even after all these years it was hard not to look at Draco. Oh, there had been other men, but he hadn't found anybody quite like Draco. Or anyone he really wanted to stay with.

The first time he had noticed that his relationship with Draco wasn't anything about animosity, but everything about being in love, he found Draco crying in Myrtle's bathroom.

Of course there had been the initial relationship problems. Slicing Draco open hadn't been that good and Draco's attempted Cruciatus hadn't made Harry happy, either. But when Draco had shown up at Grimmauld Place, looking beaten up and begging for forgiveness for a sin he hadn't even committed, it was easy enough to forgive and forget.

They hadn't become lovers right away, though. There had been tension in the air for weeks, coming to a peak when a lookout mission had gone terribly wrong. Both he and Draco had been wounded by hexes and had to hide out in a small chamber of the building they had been in, waiting and hoping desperately for help. In those angst-filled hours the only possibility to pass the time and push danger into the back of their heads had been conversation. And kisses.

Draco smacking his lips while slowly waking up shook Harry out of his thoughts.

_How weird_, Harry thought. _I haven't thought about any of this in ages and suddenly, now that Draco's here, I get practically assaulted by that shit._ He told himself that they weren't bad things to remember, but steadfastly ignored that those memories gave him a weird, warm feeling inside. He was probably just being an old, sentimental fool. At the age of twenty-eight.

*****

Draco had breakfast in bed, just as he liked best, but didn't manage to eat much. He didn't feel up to it, he said, and Harry made sure to slip a bit more of the healing potion into Draco's tea. He could only hope that this was just a bit of a cold coming down on Draco and nothing worse. Because 'worse' meant that Draco would have to be brought to a hospital, which would in turn mean that Harry had to leave his home. The prospect didn't sound so good.

"What do you do all day out here?" Draco's question sounded awake and interested, which Harry supposed was a good sign for his health. "You surely don't just sit around the house, do you?"

Harry, who was standing at the kitchen sink a few feet away, huffed in irritation. "No," he answered and stared down at the plate he was cleaning. He hated how egg yolk tended to stick onto the surface. No matter how quickly he put the plate into water he had to scrub. Still, it gave him something to do other than just sitting there and staring at Draco. "I hike a lot. I read. Feed my chickens. Meditate."

Draco made some non-committal noise that clearly showed that a life like this would bore him to death.

"I like it," Harry said defensively. "I like it just fine and I _like_ not to be disturbed." Sure life up here was a stark contrast to city life — hell, even to the normal country life — but it was just what Harry had needed after everything. And the air had never tasted better.

Draco raised his hands in a silent, unnecessary apology and shrugged. "Hey, it's your life."

Damn straight it was. Finally a life that Harry could lead completely how he wanted it. No-one here to tell him how to do things, how to behave, and no-one here who expected . . . Harry shook his head. He had stopped brooding over things that couldn't be changed ages ago. He shouldn't start again now.

"And you?" he quickly asked, inelegantly redirecting the topic.

"Well, there's work and the usual administrative stuff. I still play a bit of Quidditch, read a lot . . ."

"Do you still go to the Ministry functions?"

"You know that I do." Draco pulled his face into a grimace that was a mix between a grin and sneer of disgust. "And they haven't gotten better."

"Sounds like you've got quite a lot to do."

Draco cocked his head. "I can't say that I get bored from underemployment, no."

"And why," Harry started, putting his fists, one still holding the dishtowel, on his hips. "Do you leave all of that just to come here for a visit?"

Draco was silent and begun to fiddle with the duvet again. Just when Harry was about to turn back to the dishwashing, Draco, still looking down at his hands, started to speak: "When I was lying there in the hospital I got this feeling. Or rather it was like images flickering through my mind. I just knew that I had to talk to you."

"Draco Malfoy, the world's biggest sceptic concerning Divination, after Hermione of course, claims to have had a vision and is now acting on it?" Harry scoffed.

"Believe it or not. That's what happened. As soon as I was well enough I checked myself out and went looking for you. Granger told me that you had vanished –"

"Nobody searched for me, then?" Harry hated that he sounded a bit dejected by the fact. He would have searched for his friends had one of them vanished like he had.

"Oh, they most certainly did. But they couldn't find you."

"And you could."

"I always understood you best," Draco said sounding confident and wistful at the same time. And it was true, Draco had always known what was going on in Harry's head. He had always known how to rile Harry up, had known where Harry would hide, had known how to get Harry to forgive him the things he had done, had known what Harry was feeling even though Harry never said a word. This understanding had been what had kept them together for longer than just a couple of weeks of good sex. It had been the kit of their relationship. Unfortunately, understanding was not enough to keep something like that going on forever. "I figured out what places you would go to if you wanted to be alone. Granger and Weasley looked for you in France! As if you'd go there – you don't speak a word of French!"

"I could learn," Harry told him defiantly.

"Of course you could. But you wouldn't have bothered, since there are enough nice, solitary places here in Britain. I only needed to figure out what would have been most appealing."

"How long did it take you?"

"To find that out?" Draco blushed slightly, but Harry thought it also could have been the fever. Maybe he should give Draco some more ginger tea. "Two or three days. And then I came here."

"Without checking the weather forecast." Not wanting to get up and interrupt Draco, Harry bewitched a cup, the kettle and some ginger to prepare themselves for the tea and let them float over.

"I didn't expect a storm. Besides, I thought it was easier to get here. I shouldn't have underestimated that feat . . ."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"Anyway, I am here now."

"So, mission's accomplished. You have seen me, I am well –"

"Harry."

******

Trying to escape the stifling atmosphere of the hut, Harry had gone to check on the chickens. There weren't any new eggs, but the chickens were clucking around happily as if last night's storm hadn't happened at all.

"Come here," Harry called and bent down to feed his feathery monsters. He had always had an affinity to birds of any kind, but hadn't had an owl ever since Hedwig died three years ago. He did miss her – quite a lot, actually. She had been his first real pet, not counting the spiders in the cupboardafter all. But he didn't miss having an owl. There was nobody he needed or wanted to stay in contact with.

Harry looked back at the hut.

He couldn't get over how Draco had said his name. One word. So very simple, yet so extremely pregnant with meaning. It had hung in the air, first like a threat, then suddenly changing, becoming like velvet and caressing Harry's stubbly cheeks. Harry had had to gasp for breath and sit down.

He didn't know why it had affected him so much. People said his name all the time. Or had said it until he had fled here.

Draco really hadn't taken long to find him. But that was Draco for you – if he wanted something he would do everything to get it. And in this case it was Harry whom he wanted. Harry frowned at his choice of words and shook his head. Draco had wanted to meet him, check up on him.

Still, Draco had done quite a lot to achieve that. He had talked to Hermione and Ron, after all, and that counted for a lot.

Hermione and Ron. Both of them had been less than impressed with the fact that Harry and Draco had become an item. Trusting Draco had been quite an issue for them, even though they hadn't been on the tower and had never seen what Draco had done. Then again, they hadn't seen Draco in Myrtle's bathroom, either.

They had never gotten over their problems with Draco, and Draco had never warmed up to them. To think that they had met up and that Hermione and Ron had helped Draco to find Harry was somehow foreign – and heart-warming.

******

It was three days later when Draco finally felt good enough to come out of the hut. Sharing the sparse living room with him had been complicated, exhausting and absolutely thrilling at the same time. It was surprising for Harry how very nostalgic he could get. The whole arrangement reminded him strangely of the time when they had lived together at Grimmauld Place, right up to the point where they had decided to break up.

"Wow, this is looking way nicer now that the sun is shining," Draco commented, pulling his robe tighter around himself. He definitely was right about the view. Soft hills led over to the higher fells, tarns and moors scattered here and there, and the whole area was already coloured in a fresh, spring-green. Trees and flowers everywhere, the air was filled by a scent that was spicy and clean and spoke of a new morning. And if one narrowed his eyes and looked really closely, they could make out the tiny white dots that were Herdwick sheep browsing the distant meadows.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and smiled. This was part of why he had come here. Oh, he had liked London in a way, but all that stone, that pressed business and the rush that even dominated the Wizarding culture had been oppressing, stifling. Out here, in Lake District, he could finally experience what his heart had yearned for all these years: Freedom.

"Do you know how long it has been since I saw you smiling properly?" Draco asked wistfully as he stepped up next to Harry.

"You haven't seen me in years," Harry told him, his eyes still closed. He could feel Draco's eyes on him – they caused his body to tingle in this really weird way.

"Oh, but I have. I saw you at the functions –"

"So you saw me every couple of months."

Draco sighed and Harry could feel the air moving as Draco shook his head. "Still. You never looked happy – and don't tell me that it was because of the fact that you were at a function. Because that wasn't it. You looked like you had been unhappy for a long time."

Harry swallowed thickly. How could it be that someone who he had known nearly a lifetime ago — or so it appeared to him — knew him so well? Maybe even better than himself, because Harry certainly hadn't thought that he looked any different. But maybe that was the crux of the matter. Maybe he had been looking unhappy for so long that he hadn't noticed it anymore. But Draco had. Draco understood.

"I'm glad that you're happy now." Draco's voice was quiet and sincere.

Together they looked at the scenery in front of them, letting minutes pass in silence.

"Do you remember when you and I were on that hunt down in Devon? How we had to camp out in the open in a heath in Woodbury Common?" Draco finally asked.

"We didn't dare to put up a tent and slept without one, right in the middle of all those pink and yellow flowers. You couldn't stop sneezing." An amused grin played with the corners of Harry's mouth.

"They kept tickling my nose!" Draco defended himself, but laughed.

"We were lucky that it was summer or we would have been ice blocks in the morning."

"You would have kept me warm."

Harry turned his head to find Draco staring at him with that intense look of his. He couldn't withstand it; it was strong and made Harry shiver all over.

"Draco . . ." he murmured. This wasn't good. He couldn't stay here. "I need to check up on something. Go back to the hut and get comfortable. You need the rest," he quickly said and took off towards his favourite tarn. He needed time to think.

******

When Harry came back he found Draco back in bed, asleep. Unfortunately the visit to the tarn hadn't done any good; it rather had confused him even more. Thinking of the past he shared with Draco felt good. Those were fond memories and reliving them was nice. Dangerously nice, because they only added to the attraction he felt towards Draco.

But Draco belonged to the outside world, to London, and it would do neither of them any good to get involved. No matter how attractive Draco was or how much Harry longed to touch someone or how he relished the feeling that somebody _knew_ him. Because Draco could read his face, if he wanted to, and that was better than anything else in the world.

Harry sighed and tried not to look at Draco, lying there in the bed like an angel. A strand of hair had fallen over his face and Harry's hand itched to stroke it back. Instead of following the urge, though, Harry went over to his sink and put the herbs he had collected in there. They needed a thorough washing before he could use them.

Draco turned and mumbled in his sleep. He wasn't coughing anymore, though, and that was a good sign. Mumbling was quite a normal thing to do for Draco. Harry growled at himself. Hadn't he told himself to stop thinking about this?!

He and Draco had broken up for a reason, after all. Oh, it hadn't been infidelity or the urge to kill each other. Everyone else suspected it would sooner or later come to either, but it hadn't. Instead they had just grown up. With Voldemort finally dead and gone, life had started again. They had gone out, started their apprenticeships, met new people, saw new things. Somewhere along the line they had started to drift away from each other, up to where the presence of the other had no longer been a necessity to be happy. It had meant the end of them.

At first they had tried to stay friends, like so many other people did who broke up. But soon enough they had been occupied with other things, had started seeing other people, and their friendship had slowly faded until they were nothing more than ex-partners, acquaintances. Things like that didn't just change.

"Quit that," Draco's hoarse voice came from the bed and made Harry blink.

"Huh?"

"You are over-thinking something again. It's not good for you – you are in the age now where the wrinkles start showing and you really shouldn't furrow your forehead like that." Mirth glittered in Draco's eyes and it was hard for Harry not to grin at him.

"Do you want some tea?" he asked instead and pointed his wand at the kettle next to the fire to get some water boiling.

"Yes, please." Draco settled back into the pillow and seemed content with watching Harry work for the next couple of minutes. Harry couldn't decide whether he liked the chatty Draco or the silent Draco better.

"Here you go," Harry said and handed Draco the cup. Their fingers touched briefly and Harry marvelled at how warm Draco's hands were. Warm and soft and so very different from his. He remembered how those hands had touched him lovingly, how they had caressed him and loved him.

Harry blushed and quickly turned around, hating himself for looking like a schoolboy with a crush again. Then something occurred to him – something that should have thought about earlier, that he had probably been supposed to ask, but simply had forgotten: "How is everyone?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Everyone?"

"Ron. Hermione. The rest of the people we know. . . . Knew." Harry fidgeted in the armchair that he was occupying once again. Why did he suddenly feel so bad? He had had no guilty conscience at all about leaving them, so why did it bother him so much that he hadn't asked Draco about his friends before?

"Well," Draco cleared his throat, "I haven't been so much into contact with your friends."

Harry hung his head. He shouldn't feel so down about this. He hadn't thought of asking before, so apparently they couldn't be too important to him. He thought back to Ron's easy friendliness and to Hermione's ever-caring nature, worried for everyone and everything.

"But as far as I know Weasley asked Granger to marry him."

Harry's head shot up. Ron had . . . Had he really? "He finally had the guts..." Harry mumbled, then broke out in a wide grin. Weirdly enough his eyes felt wet somehow.

"Finnigan and Thomas are still getting it on — disgusting, really — and Thomas has his paintings finally hanging in a gallery. They are actually pretty good. Longbottom is still at Hogwarts, but I chose not to hear more about him."

It was surprising, really, how Harry was completely sponge-like, sucking up the news about his friends. Coming here had been necessary, he needed the time alone, needed calm and quiet, but hearing that his old friends were well soothed his soul.

******

They kept on talking until their eyelids became too heavy to hold them up. Would someone have had the chance to take a look at their sleeping forms they would have noticed that Harry's makeshift bed was closer to the actual bed now. Both men were lying on their sides, facing each other, having fallen asleep while talking.

Some hours later, though to Harry it felt like only a blink of an eye, he woke up. He had been dreaming about Hermione and Ron, he remembered. They had been smiling and had been happy, just like they were supposed to be. Harry smiled at the dream and hoped that things were exactly like that.

By then his eyes had become used to the darkness in the hut, and he found himself looking at Draco's face again. Watching Draco sleep had been one of his favourite pastimes once. He would lie awake right next to Draco and watch how Draco's chest rose and fell, how his cheeks flushed slowly and slightly, depending on what he dreamt, and how sometimes a smile was playing with the corners of Draco's mouth.

Draco wriggled in his sleep, burrowed deeper under the duvet and sighed happily: "Harry."

Harry jerked back, staring wide-eyed at Draco. Had he just . . . had he just said Harry's name? He blinked at the ceiling. Probably just had dreamt that Harry brought him something to eat. His favourite cake, perhaps. Maybe Draco still liked raspberry cake – he would have dreamt of that then.

Laughing weakly at himself, Harry risked another glance at Draco. Draco's lips were slightly parted and a little flush was gracing his cheeks. Harry quickly looked back at the ceiling. Yes, yes, Draco was definitely dreaming of cake.

******

"You know," Draco began the next day as he looked at Harry, who had started preparing their lunch. "Your cooking skills really improved." He sat in bed, propped up against some pillows and looked like a prince ready to be waited on.

"Are you saying they weren't good before?" Harry asked wryly.

"No, I'm just saying that you got even better," Draco licked his lips and stared at the vegetables that Harry had already cut. Or he stared at Harry, but Harry wasn't really sure about that at all. "Hey, can I help?"

Harry's eyes widened slightly. "As far as I can remember your skills weren't . . . good."

"I might have burned one or two eggs –"

"Or rather you managed to burn water," Harry snorted and in turn Draco crossed his arms defensively.

"Well, I'm sure it happens to everyone sometimes."

Harry, wise as he was, said nothing, suppressed a grin and nodded.

"But I'll have you know that I got better. I even got over the 'sandwich-preparing-stage' and I can indeed fry this or that — and it still tastes good afterwards!" The way that Draco had such a proud glow around him when he said this made Harry actually smile. "So, am I allowed to help you?"

"Sure," Harry said, knowing that he was most likely digging his own grave with his acceptance.

"Good, then come and help me up."

Harry, the knight in shining armour that he was, hurried over to help an apparently unsteady Draco to his feet. Giving him a hand, he pulled Draco up and was just about to ask him whether he felt unwell, when Draco lost his balance. Only both of their seeker reflexes prevented Draco from falling and Draco clung to Harry, leaning onto him.

How could someone, who had just gotten out of bed, smell so damn good? Harry breathed in deeply, trying to memorize the smell, and closed his eyes for a second until he remembered who and where he was. He pushed Draco away slightly, though still supporting his weight.

"Are you alright?" he asked. His voice sounded slightly husky, he noticed, and he prayed that Draco hadn't.

"Yes, I'm fine. Sorry for that," Draco said and smiled at Harry. He extricated himself from Harry's arms and walked over to the table where Harry had the ingredients waiting for them. "So, what are we going to make?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry walked over to Draco and looked at the table. "I thought we could make a casserole."

"You are fond of stews and casserole, aren't you?" Draco grinned at him. "We've had them quite often now."

Harry shrugged apologetically. "The facilities here are a bit limited, I'm afraid. We could roast some meat over the fire, if you'd rather . . ."

"No, casserole is perfectly fine. Now: Tell me what to do. Because I haven't got a clue how to make one."

That got Harry laughing. He held a knife out to Draco and said: "Cut the carrots, you fantastic cook, you." Their fingers brushed as Draco took the knife.

******

Hours later Harry wasn't so sure about the raspberry cake issue anymore. During the preparations for lunch, and then later when they had cleaned the dishes together, there had been touches . . . At first Harry had thought they were accidental brushes that just occurred, but when they had increased in frequency he couldn't help but wonder whether or not Draco was touching him on purpose. Usually he would have told himself that he was imagining things, but this was Draco. Draco, whom he knew well enough to know that he purposefully used accidental hand-brushing – because that was what he had done to get Harry's attention in the first place.

Harry even might have told himself that he was imagining things with Draco — his convincing skills were just that good —— but then he remembered last night and Draco whispering Harry's name.

No, those touches came on purpose. But knowing that didn't help Harry at all. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to react?

*******

The matter hadn't solved itself when the next day came, either. Harry had barely been able to sleep, his thoughts racing, his eyes glued to Draco's angelic face, and he couldn't help but feel cooped up in the hut. A hike to his favourite tarn sounded just like the thing to do.

The weather was bright and clear, the air filled by all the smells that Harry had come to love. He felt better already as he stepped out of the hut. Maybe he would be able to find a clear thought now and solve the whole Draco-issue.

"Can I come with you?" Draco was leaning against the doorframe, wearing his robes and looking just plain good. Healthy. He would probably be leaving soon.

Harry sighed. "Are you sure you're up to a hike?"

"Yes. I'd like to see more of the area. You seem to love it here." Draco stepped forward and gave a Harry a smile.

"Yes, I do. It's . . . I don't know. Home, I guess. I feel good here."

Draco nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing.

"Alright then. Let's go."

******

The walk up the tarn was uneventful, if meeting one of the Herdwick sheep didn't count. It had been blocking the path and Draco, who had never come that close to a sheep, had shown a respect that he hadn't even had for the Hippogryff back in third year. Harry had been laughing loudly about that for at least twenty minutes until Draco had had enough and had tackled Harry from the side, making him fall into a field of wild daffodils. He had helped Harry up, afterwards, but hadn't told him that he still had farina in his hair.

The hike took longer than usual. Draco had had his problems with keeping up with Harry, who was used to the walk, and Harry slowed down so as to not leave Draco behind. When they finally reached the tarn, the both of them sat down.

"Wow," Draco panted, trying to catch his breath. "This is amazing." And it was. The sun dancing around the few sheep-clouds that were sailing down the sky threw a mixture of light shadows and hearty, warm sunbeams onto the landscape, making the water of the tarn glitter merrily and the green of the meadows look even brighter. A soft breeze was stroking their noses and their hair moved lazily in the wind. This place was pure peace.

Draco lay back onto the grass and sighed happily. "I'm glad you let me come with you." Harry felt Draco's warm hand touch his and he automatically closed his fingers around Draco's. At Draco's gentle tug Harry lay down next to Draco.

"See that?" Harry asked and pointed at a particularly fluffy cloud. "That one's looking like a sheep."

Draco snorted. "Gee, Harry, a cloud that looks like a sheep? That must be a first!" He coughed slightly as Harry's elbow connected with his side. "What about that one? The one right next to your _sheep_."

"Hard one. I'm not sure I can think of anything other than a sheep."

"Twat."

"Pratt."

"I say it looks like a dragon."

"Of course you do. I say it looks like a lion. See the mane? And the –" Suddenly there were warm lips on Harry's. His eyes closed automatically, his lips parting, and then their breaths were mingling. Tongues touching, so warm and wonderful. It was so easy to give into this again, to lose himself in the kiss.

The kiss ended slower than it had begun. Harry opened his eyes and blinked, finding Draco's silver orbs only mere inches away from his. What had just . . . ? Harry sat up, staring out onto the tarn. Could this be? Just because Draco had dreamt of him . . . He couldn't do this. Draco was nearly ready to leave again and go back to his real life in London.

"Harry?" Draco's voice sounded unsure and needy, but Harry couldn't bring himself to look at Draco. Not yet.

"What do you want, Draco? What are you doing here? And don't give me the crap about your dream or vision or whatever it was supposed to be. You wouldn't come here just because of a dream."

Draco sighed and rubbed his hand over his face, but Harry didn't soften. He needed to know this. He needed the truth, because nothing could be built, at all, on something that wasn't completely honest.

"What I said about the dream is true," Draco started. Harry finally turned around and was about to say something, but Draco held his hand up to quell Harry's protests. "But it was only what made me finally act." He sighed heavily like a man who was led to his own execution and tugged at Harry's hand again to get him to come closer. But Harry didn't budge, preferring to stay where he was. "I watched you for months before you vanished, Harry. I don't know what exactly made me realise that I love you — that I still love you —but one night during some incredibly boring ball I looked at you and I realised that I loved you. Needed you. Still do."

"You never said anything." Harry knew how accusing he sounded, but how was he supposed to react? Here was his ex, claiming that he still loved him, but had never said a word.

"Can you hold it against me? I thought you'd turn me away."

"And what made you act now? Why did you come here when you feared I could turn you down?"

Draco shrugged and gave him a wry smile. "Believe it or not, it was my near-death experience."

"You do know that most people survive pneumonia? Only those who are already sick beforehand are at high risk." Harry raised his eyebrows challengingly and tried not to sound amused. Draco had never suffered well.

"It's still a dangerous illness! And besides, you have loads of time to think when you're lying in hospital. I had this dream and I kept thinking about you. And I finally realised that nothing would change if I didn't find you and at least tried to gain your love back. I could have died without ever telling you!"

Draco seemed to be honestly distressed by the thought and Harry scooted closer to him, bumping their shoulders. He got a slight smile in return and Draco took Harry's hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"I might not come back to London," Harry finally said.

"I know. It's a risk I am willing to take. And you don't have to make that decision just yet. You have time."

"Are you sure? Would it be okay for you to wait?"

"Harry. It's not like I won't see you if you decide to keep living here. There's Apparition and we could connect your fireplace to the Floo network."

Harry nodded. "That's true, but I can't become an Auror again."

"You don't have to. You can be whatever you want to be."

Harry looked at Draco and nodded slowly. A smile spread over Draco's face and he closed the space between them, sealing their second chance with a kiss.


End file.
